Uncited

Mostly, I lie in bed and think about the indecency of being alive. I have a head. In my head is a classroom. a woman explaining something about the human body while I wonder who decided that a collection of meat and electricity should be capable of missing somebody. There are girls in my head braiding each other’s hair. There are dead philosophers arguing over a table nobody has eaten at. My father’s voice. My own voice, which sounds different when I am alone. The particular horror of having a mother who knew me before I knew there was a me to know. I have a head. In my head is my country, red dust, unfinished roads, a country that has buried its dead and continued screaming. There are women who have never been allowed to become strangers to themselves. There are little girls growing up into women who will have to explain why they are angry. I let them speak. Sometimes they all speak at once and I cannot sleep. In my head is a stomach full of butterflies, except mine have read a bit philosophy and developed a death wish. They circle the same questions until morning. Free will. God. The body. Whether love is a real thing or a particularly elaborate form of projection. Whether I am a good person or simply a person who thinks about goodness a lot. I have a head. Inside is a living room where I am twenty-two and seventy and six years old simultaneously. The six-year-old wants to be held. The twenty-two-year-old wants to be left alone. The seventy-year-old has seen how stupid we were about everything and forgives us anyway. On the television, a man explains that consciousness is an illusion. I laugh because even if he is right, the illusion is having a terrible evening. My head plays old conversations with new dialogue. People I have loved become people I have invented. People I have invented become more real than the people I love. Sometimes I imagine my own death and feel offended by the thought that the world would carry on without consulting me. The sun would rise over my city. Somebody would burn injera. Somebody would fall in love with a person they should absolutely avoid. I have a head. I close my eyes and try to make it stop being a head. It does not. I think about you. I think about you as if thinking were a place I could go and you would be there, sitting on the edge of the bed, asking me what is wrong. I would tell you nothing. I would tell you about the universe instead. I would tell you that I am frightened by how much I want to stay.

Eshi I have a perfect monologue for a date

and the thing is, we don't even know if the manuscript is encrypted or if we're looking at it through the wrong assumptions entirely. we've tried to fit it into categories we already understand, and it keeps refusing to cooperate. which is annoying, frankly. (i want to know what it says too.🧍‍♀)

The voynich manuscript is this 15th-century book nobody has managed to decipher. it's full of strange plants, astronomical drawings, naked women sitting in what look like elaborate plumbing systems, and hundreds of pages written in a script nobody can confidently read. it's been sitting at yale university for years while cryptographers, historians and probably a few people with too much free time try to figure out what the hell it says. the latest theory is that some of its pages might have been bound in the wrong order.

This must be tolerance training for eternity in hell enji, there's no reason for the sun to burn like this

Been wanted to say this, so here it goes. When ever a new case of Femicide or gender-based violence is brought to light, I really hope the sentiment around it isn't about losing hope or being desensitized to it. They're not unique cases or femicide is not increasing in Ethiopia per say. It's just being put to light more, if this was 10 years ago, these women's death would have been a facebook post at most. am 1000% sure there there are many more that are just being swept under the rug. so it should a reason to do more, to demand justice, to not let their death be overwalked by "በሽማግሌ ተታርቀዋል".

Me and the invisible umbilical cord I carry with my mom

This, then, was the nightmare hidden inside the dream of mastery. Human beings develop reason, Kant thought, in order to free themselves from arbitrary power. But when reason is reduced to instrumental calculation, it turns back on them. Nature becomes raw material. Animals become units of production. Workers become human resources. Citizens become data points, or worse. The Frankfurt School found that the reduction of human beings to manipulable objects follows naturally once society allows that reason itself is nothing more than a tool for getting what we want

we have somehow managed to turn having a life into a full-time job. even our hobbies need to become profitable, our rest needs to make us more productive, and our self-improvement has no retirement age. everything is an investment, including ourselves. i wonder if capitalism has made us so concerned with wasting time that we no longer know what to do with time that belongs to nobody.

Why real intelligence is something more than optimisation https://aeon.co/essays/why-real-intelligence-is-something-more-than-optimisation

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(what I'm about to write has little to no relation to what kiru wrote beautifully there) I feel like it's not discussed enough , how leaving Christianity really feels like losing a friend . Especially if you really bought in to the "it's a relationship" thing. Going for a walk and talking to God like, "hiii. Today I saw a beautiful beautiful tree and thought about you. I was going to tell you 'thank you' for them but then I remembered that you don't exist." Just put a metal pole thru my neck. How do you mourn for someone that never really existed at all? You really loved them. How do you process that grief? I feel like a time traveller went thru and retroactively erased my friend. They were nevertheless really there at all. Now there's an empty space in all my photographs. I swear there was somebody standing next to me. I thought there was someone standing next to me. It's sickening in retrospect. How lonely I used to be. I thought someone was there. Pull the metal pole out of my neck ልምድ ሆኖብኝ ለሰላምታ"እግዚአብሔር ይመስገን" ነው መልሴ። እንደዛ ከመለስሁ በኋላ አዕምሮዬ የሚደረድርልኝን ጥያቄ ማዳመጥ ግን torture! (ላንቺ ሰላም እግዜሩ ከተመሰገነ ለወገኖችሽ ስቃይ ሊጠላ ነው? እና ሌሎችም) ብቻ elementary elementary ጥያቄዎች... ወዲህ ጥብቅና ልቆምለት እፈልጋለውም መስለኝ..

🧍‍♀

This sleeping 8+ hours and less caffeine be working well hmmm